


Soft Mornings

by Shes-claws-deep (CyrilOdahviing)



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: F/M, Female Dominance, Femdom, Fluff, Morning Sex, dom!reader, morning pillow talk, sub!Vergil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2020-03-07 09:19:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18870292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CyrilOdahviing/pseuds/Shes-claws-deep
Summary: In which Vergil wakes up earlier than you do and spends it just staring at you. With a lot of brooding, of course, because what else is Vergil going to do when left to his own thoughts?





	Soft Mornings

To Vergil, waking is much like rising from the bottom of the ocean. His awakening is soft, slow, his conscience bubbling towards reality. His hearing comes back first; soft breaths and quiet shifting, peaceful sounds that make him feel like he's in a waking dream. Then his sense of smell comes to him, filling his nose with a light scent and a homier musk that tells him he's safe, he's warm. He's home. 

Vergil takes a long, deep breath. Drags your familiar smell into his lungs. Expels that breath in a slow exhale that sends his bed ruffled hair and yours flying. He doesn't dare open his eyes, doesn't dare take the chance that he might wake to see an empty bed. Doesn't dare to wake for the fear of it being all a dream. Please let it be real. Please be real.

He stretches out his arm blindly, reaching towards a warmth that he desperately hopes is there. To his relief, sleep warm skin meets the calloused tips of his fingers, twitching and turning pebbly the more his touch lingers, the more he caresses it. Emboldened by the softness under his touch, Vergil opens his aching eyes, blinking languidly to shake the sand from them. When his sight clears, his sharp blue gaze softens and his lashes fall to half-mast once more.

Combat roughened fingers are pressed to your arm, one that rests on your pillow. It twitches and you draw it closer to your chest, murmuring and stirring and clutching your favourite pillow close. Unbidden, his lips quirk into a soft smile and he withdraws his hand, mirroring your pose in holding his fist close to his chest. You look so adorable, so vulnerable, your face slack and peaceful as you slumber quietly. Your breaths are slow and steady and quiet, filling the room with a steady stream of soft noises alongside Vergil's own breaths. Your lashes are still against the tops of your cheeks, fluttering every so often, their movements reminding him of how you caressed him last night. Of how your fleeting touches over his touch-starved skin felt like the kisses of a butterfly's wings. He doesn't even need to close his eyes to remember the sensation, doesn't need to concentrate hard to bring up the memory of your soft breaths feathering over his lips, of your loving touches sussurrating over his pale scars.

For what feels like an eternity, he watches you sleep. Watches your chest rise and fall. Watches your beautiful features as you wrinkle your forehead and turn to rest on your back, your arm extending and brushing against his forearm. That single touch sends an addicting warmth through him, pulling him towards you, urging him close until he closes his hand around yours. With his thumb rasping over your pulse, he turns his attention to your hand in his.

It's so small in comparison to his. Gentle. Fragile. Hands that haven't wrought as much destruction as his. Hands that heal rather than tear asunder. Hands that have taught him to be human again. That have reminded him that he's not just Vergil, half-demon and son of Sparda. That hand curls over his fingers as he closes his fist, clutching him in a sleepy hold. Despite your weak grip, it feels like you've just curled your hand around his cold, black heart, breathing life into it with every beat of your pulse. It brings warmth back into his cooling limbs, softening the deep tension in his shoulders. 

Some days he might ruminate on how you've managed to tame him so completely. Some days he might wonder what it'd be like if he didn't have your earthy presence next to him, tethering him to this reality as surely as an anchor. Would he still be lost in the Underworld, forever prowling, forever searching for power that would never grace him? Perhaps he would still be plotting his brother's demise, to take the other half of Sparda's power for himself. Or perhaps he might be huddled in a cold corner, stubbornly pushing aside the pang of loneliness that resonates in his bones. 

On those days, like this one, he firmly decides he doesn't want that cold, lonesome life chasing an impossible dream. True, this one doesn't seem much different from a pleasant, if unattainable, paradise of a dream. Doesn't seem much different from a waking dream that he never wants to wake up from. But when he feels your skin on his, your voice calling his name, your lips curling into that smile he so loves, he's coaxed back to earth. To you. 

With a lump in his throat and a strange burning behind his eyes, Vergil shuffles closer. Closer. Closer still until he can feel your breath on his chest, until your hair tickles his arm as he gently slides it beneath your pillow comfortably. With your weight on his bicep, your heat soaking into his cold chest, Vergil relaxes completely, tugging your hand towards his sternum and laying your palm flat against the wide expanse of his muscled chest. Like this, he feels at peace. Like this, he feels like this is what his heaven would be. An eternity by your side, waking up to this soft existence and seeing your face first thing in the morning.

The sun appears to agree, a ray of sunshine bleeding through the curtains behind your back and illuminating the top of your chest and shining right on your palm over his heart. The heat of it is stark, hot enough to make you frown and stir uncomfortably. Without even thinking, Vergil, lets go of your hand and reaches over you, closing the curtains securely and casting the both of you back into darkness. And just like that, you fall deeper into sleep, curling to your side and wriggling close to him, your pillow still held securely to your chest. Vergil smiles gently at your movement, letting his arm fall over your waist loosely. Letting his hand fall against your back and spread over the line of your spine. His fingers trail gently over your skin, spreading them, feeling how much of your back he can encompass with that one hand. 

A quiet purr rumbles in your chest at his action, the heat of his palm making you stir long enough that you wriggle closer to him, your arms extending to wrap around his chest and back like his does around you. Despite the pillow being in the way, Vergil smiles and dips his head down to rest his lips on the crown of your head. Not kissing, rather just resting them there and breathing in your scent. The familiar fragrance of your favourite shampoo and conditioner tickles his nose pleasantly. You never really changed your shampoo, did you? You might change brands but the fragrances would be similar. Familiarity, he believes you said once, you enjoy the familiarity that the one scent brings you. In some way, Vergil agrees with your decision, enjoying that the scent of your hair won't change no matter how long he'll be with you. Stable. Constant. Unlike everything else in his life.

You snuffle a little in your sleep, your face wrinkling a little. What could you be dreaming of, he wonders. Perhaps a dreamless sleep, perhaps a memory, or perhaps something completely nonsensical. Or perhaps, you are dreaming of him? A wishful thought, that he might appear in your dreams as he already has in your waking hours. But then you nudge the pillow away and snuggle right up to him, a small little smile stretching over your lips as you press yourself up against him. 

On instinct, he tenses up. His skin prickling at the feel of your front plastering against his own chest. But then you sigh and bury your head into his neck, your nose pressed up into the crux of his neck and shoulder, and he lets that tension go. It's still a little strange to be so close to someone. But Vergil likes to think he takes it in his stride like everything that he does, adapting and moving as instinct and training dictates. In this, he curls his shoulders in and wraps his arm around you fully, tucking his hand under your body to bring you into the shelter of his body. To ensconce you entirely in his bulk. Protecting you. Shielding you. From what, he has no idea. Himself, maybe. The biggest threat is always himself.

"You're thinking too loudly." 

Vergil jolts and draws back, startled, meeting your tired eyes with his own wide, blue ones. Your voice is hoarse, gravelly, still thick with sleep and ever so slightly unintelligible. 

"Too early," you grumble at him without censure, shifting your body so you can throw your leg over his hip. The hand that he has pinned to his chest frees itself from under his palm, snaking under his ultra warm body to wrap it around his broad back. "Sleep."

Unbidden, a smile crosses Vergil's lips and he moves his knee, tangling his legs with yours. "It's," he checks your clock, "nine in the morning." That's hardly too early. But then again, you always did like to sleep in.

Your cute growl meets his ears. "Shuddup." You reach up and grasp a handful of his beautiful silver hair, silver hair that's shot through with thin little near invisible streaks of grey, and pull him down so now his face is buried in your neck. "Sleep."

All those intrusive thoughts, those demons that still haunt him, quieten down at your hand carding through his hair. They purr as he does as you scratch at his scalp, petting him and coaxing him back into the land of rest with you. Alas, he's already awake. "We should get up."

"No." Is your clipped answer. As though to reinforce your refusal, you wrap both legs around his waist and hook your ankles together, trying to wrap yourself around him as best you can. Alas, even then he's so broad your thighs ache at the strain, his shoulders and chest so wide that you're quite sure you could disappear under him if he so chose to roll over you. "Go to sleep."

"Suffocating me isn't going to make me fall asleep, my love," he purrs against your skin, electing to kiss where his lips can reach. 

"If you pass out, you will." Comes your acerbic reply, this time more coherent than anything else you said before. "Damnit, now I'm awake."

A sly smirk mars that pretty face of his. "My apologies." In that way of his, he manages to make it sound mocking enough that you hiss at him. Quickly, he starts to placate you by pressing butterfly kisses all over the tops of your breasts, up your clavicle, dotting across your throat until you melt in his arms. "How may I make it up to you, my love?"

Though you grumble, you hold him close and pet his head once more, though this time you make sure to pinch his ears. "You can make it up to me by letting me stay in bed all day."

Vergil snorts and nips at your neck with every intention of marking up your skin as much as you marked his last night. "As much as I would love to, you'd punish me for letting you skip breakfast with my brother."

Oh shit! You shoot upright, wide eyes falling on the clock which read a quarter past nine. "Fuck! Dante's stupid weekly breakfast! Damnit Vergil, why didn't you say so earlier!" Scrambling over his body, you slip and tug at the blankets that trap your legs. "We're going to be late!"

Like he cares if he's on time or not for this appointment. "Didn't you say you wanted to stay in bed all day?" Plus, the way you're wriggling against him, brushing up against the bruises you left on him last night, is getting him awfully excited. "We have a few minutes."

You freeze the moment your leg brushes against his burgeoning erection and you glare at him. "You know very well that your version of a quickie is like, half an hour, right?"

Vergil bats his eyelashes, stupidly long, thick eyelashes, at you. "I refuse to leave you dissatisfied, my love. Surely you can't fault me for that?" Already, his hands are wandering over your body, squeezing temptingly at your ass and thighs, rasping closer and closer to where you're absolutely burning. "Let me please you, dearest. Just one...taste..." Saliva pools in his mouth at the memory of your taste on his tongue. "I'll make it quick."

Narrowing your eyes at him from your perch upon his muscled abs, you shake a finger in his face. "Ten minutes and no more, got it?" Damn him and his talented tongue. You just can't refuse him.

Victory gleamed in those icy blue eyes of his and he grins, his hands cupping your thighs and urging you higher upon his body until you're kneeling above his face. "Understood, my love." 

Later on, Dante complains to you that if you were going to be late all the time, he should just change the timing to something that's not in the morning. Blushing, you apologise and slap Vergil's arm until he also bows his head to his twin. After all, it was his fault you were late.


End file.
